


"How's the diet?"

by the_ridingcrop



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ridingcrop/pseuds/the_ridingcrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft loves cake, he doesn't love Sherlock or John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"How's the diet?"

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Mystrade fic. Comment and kudos! Super short one shot that niamh and I thought up x

 

Mycroft sat at his desk, Anthea typing away on the computer outside – just the right angle to keep an eye on her – with one hand inching slowly towards the Patisserie Valerie box sitting on his desk.

The brown box was nicely taped up, lid kept down by an elaborate sticker portraying a French lady, swirling designs around the side and the smell of the chocolate twist, red velvet cupcake and marble sponge was making his mouth water. John and Sherlock in his office earlier this morning and Sherlock teasing him about the box quite _obviously_ shoved under his desk and he couldn’t wait to get the annoying git out of his office fast enough.

Mycroft never indulged when Anthea was in the office. He usually made her make him some tea – or whomever the person was who made the tea for her to take back.

Tea was in order, Mycroft thought, as he sent Anthea away to go and make some, or collect it. He slid the box towards himself and smiled pleasantly as he slid the letter opener over the thin tape and opened up the lid.

The chocolate twist; its perfectly yellow pastry, dark chocolate chips and creamy pastry custard. The bright red velvet cake, the perfectly contrasting white vanilla icing spun on top into a perfect spiral and the dark chocolate and milk chocolate marble cake, elegant swirls that looped round the small sponge, creating the perfect effect should have been sat in the box, inciting Mycroft. 

He was faced; instead, with an old desk ornament that Sherlock got him once for Christmas. It was horrible yellowing china bulldog with the British flag draped across its back and black beady eyes staring judgementally at him. Mycroft showed his appreciation for the gift one month when Sherlock had nearly managed to cause WW3 in one _afternoon_ and the god damned dog was the nearest thing.

It had appeared again the next day on his desk, super glued together and looking pristine.

Taped to the bulldog was a small note, scribbled across in a very distinct handwriting that belonged to his one and only brother.

_'It would be a disaster if you were to break your diet, brother dear.'_

Sherlock!” Mycroft yelled, picking up the dog and hurling it at the office door.

Greg caught the flying china ornament as he opened the door, fumbling a little before pulling the thing into his chest and gripping on tightly. He was surprised at his  _own_ reflexes.

“For fu-” 

“Tea sir?” Anthea said, taking the bulldog off Greg and placing the tea in-front of Mycroft and the bulldog tucked just inside the framed picture of him and Sherlock when they were at school together. It was a great one, Sherlock had a very displeased look on his face as he stood dressed in the ridiculous knee length shorts and bleached shirt tucked in with the tie he never actually wore tied loosely around his neck. It was a great one to pull out when blackmail came into the question, not that Mycroft ever sunk  _that low._

“Thank you Anthea, you can go home now”

Anthea scoffed and shut the door, Mycroft knew she wouldn’t go home but her desk was better than the conversation he was going to have to have.

“Greg I need some cake” Mycroft blurted

Greg quirked his eyebrow, he knew his boyfriend had a sweet tooth but he was starting to sound like Sherlock when John wouldn’t give him his cigarettes. Plus, Mycroft  _never_ begged.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself Greg, you know I hate it” Mycroft seethed. 

Greg rolled his eyes. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  

Greg worried that the man who ' _was the British government'_ had cracked and was going to be cowering in the corner chanting the word ‘cake’ while rocking himself insane thought maybe _helping_ would just be easier than asking.

He never usually liked to question the Holmes’s anyway.

“I need cake Greg, any kind, I just need some _bloody_ cake!”

Greg flinched a little as Mycroft slammed his hand against the table while seething out the word bloody.

“Look, I’ll go to Tesco round the corner. Just, uhm, just breathe?” Greg got a glare in response and looked timidly at the clenched, white knuckled fist on the desk.

Greg got out of the office as quickly as he could and to the Tesco on the corner. His eyes scanned the cake isle as quickly, trying to choose something that would be acceptable-

_Anything would be acceptable for the state that Mycroft’s in._

Greg grabbed the nearest Thornton’s chocolate cake and ran to the check-outs, as soon as he was gone he was back and, thankfully, Mycroft hadn’t become a cowering mess.

“Here” Greg said, dropping the cake down on the desk.

Mycroft winced as he opened the packet and pulled a knife out of the top drawer. After cutting a slice and eating a bite he swallowed.

“Good?”

“It’s disgusting and I can practically taste the E numbers but its cake” Greg almost scoffed before Mycroft added  “Also, kill John and Sherlock”

Greg laughed at his overprotective-cake-loving boyfriend. He was sure he heard a small growl when he tried to pinch a slice. 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 


End file.
